


Closer

by storylinecontinuum



Series: Historical USUK [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, Historical Hetalia, Introspection, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storylinecontinuum/pseuds/storylinecontinuum
Summary: This sent a blush dashing to Alfred’s cheeks and he struggled not to fidget as he caught a faint whiff of hotel bedding. They were close. Very close. It was no secret stadiums had crowded seating arrangements but audiences normally didn’t suffer from the same crippling problem he had. A rampant centuries old infatuation with the person next to him____Los Angeles 1984 Olympic Games
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Series: Historical USUK [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814824
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> historical notes at the end

Alfred beamed with pride as his eyes swept over the statistics document in his hands. One week in and everything was going swimmingly! And he had every right to use that word seeing as the last of the swimming competitions had ended the day before and his boys had snatched 34 medals.

So much for England saying he paid too much attention to the skies and not the water.

But it wasn’t just his athletes’ achievements that were putting him in a good mood. The event as a whole was shaping up to be a resounding success – already people were saying how his games were going to serve as a financial model on how to run future editions. He shuddered with delight. There was a particular brand of satisfaction that came with being held up as a model and Alfred couldn’t get enough of it.

After reading the report for what felt like the umpteenth time, he tucked it safely inside his jacket and let his eyes wander down to the playing field below. The next event was due to start in two hours but he liked the quiet atmosphere before the show kicked off, when last moment preparations had staff flitting to and fro around the stadium.

In those moments he was a stone in a stream – just another suited figure with an ID pass on a lanyard, who everyone walked around to get to their destination. It was a special kind of peace.

Besides, he could use the time before the other nations started piling in. The role of a social butterfly host was by no means an unpleasant one but all the excitement surrounding the games, the _elation_ his people felt, was starting to wear him out. Superpower though he might be, he still needed his R&R.

Speaking of rest, his body seemed to be moving on autopilot as it gravitated toward the open spectators’ area and found a seat to deposit itself into. The cool touch of plastic felt divine against his back and he groaned as he stretched his sore limbs. One downside to his people being so active in the games was the phantom burn of their fatigue that settled into his muscles. He wasn’t sure how much of it was nation voodoo but at that point he’d given up on blaming it all on his imagination.

With nothing better to do, he kicked back and enjoyed the view that was the Coliseum under the summer sun. Such venues always looked more enormous with no audience. In a couple of hours those thousands of seats would be full of spectators, their cheering making the place feel small and enclosed but in the best way possible. Such had been the case every day since the start of the Athletics events a few days prior.

And to think he’d been worried about attendance this year.

But he did have good reason to be worried. After all these games were different, he thought, chewing on his lip and feeling his mood suddenly plummet…

Great.

He’d been hoping to avoid such thoughts today.

And yet there was that insistent drone again, that busy tension that reminded him of a competition he’d been locked in since long before the games had begun.

His games. The games that were being _boycotted_.

A familiar indignation rose to join the buzz and he cleared his throat as his hands came up to knead the sleeves of his jacket. Even decades after its beginning, the Cold War didn’t fail to reduce his good mood to cinders.

And to make matters worse, this week’s flavor of the war was guilt. Alfred hated guilt. He couldn’t handle guilt. But he knew he was the one who had set an example here and there was no denying that, which stung quite frankly. It was like he was driving a wedge between the other nations.

Sometimes it was just as tangible through their presence as it was through their absence – he’d lost count of the times he’d seen Romania turn around, brimming with excitement, to share something with Bulgaria only to find that the other wasn’t there.

It made his stomach twist.

He made sure to pay special attention to Romania because of it, showering the guy with friendly slaps on the back and smiles he hoped showed his gratitude. And yet the effort seemed pathetic even to himself.

Alfred shifted in his seat. Unlike a few moments ago, it felt rather uncomfortable now. All these thoughts were taking him back to ’32 when the mood at the Coliseum had been similarly dampened by the absence of many flags. Back then it had been the ripples of the Great depression that had convinced many not to make the trip and Alfred still felt the clammy remnants of responsibility for that.

But this time it wasn’t just his fault! Ivan was being stubborn and he was just as much to blame for this! Alfred was on the right side of things, he was-

…No. No more of that. He was tired of this old argument. The war was almost over now - Reagan was bleeding him dry for the army’s sake but he was still working toward resolving things.

And Alfred could already feel the change – gone were the days when he would work himself up into a zealous frenzy. He may not have known what it was like to hate with a passion before the 1950s but he wasn’t going to let it control him this far down the-

“So it’s worse than I thought.”

Alfred jumped, his ass landing back on the seat with a loud creak of plastic.

The next moment his head whipped back to find the disgruntled-looking figure of England staring down at him with disapproval.

“England.” He said dumbly, blurting the name in place of a greeting. England took it in stride however, while also taking a few strides toward Alfred.

“The one and only,” he quipped as he took the seat next to his.

This sent a blush dashing to Alfred’s cheeks and he struggled not to fidget as he caught a faint whiff of hotel bedding. They were close. Very close. It was no secret stadiums had crowded seating arrangements but audiences normally didn’t suffer from the same crippling problem he had. A rampant centuries old infatuation with the person next to him.

Even less helpful was the fact that recently that infatuation had seen a novel development.

Physical proximity was no longer just that. It now gave rise to an urge to _touch_.

“Aren’t you supposed to look busy?” England asked, arranging his legs in the narrow space. The motion caught Alfred’s eyes which then took the natural course upwards.

England looked especially lovely today, the time he’d spend in California doing wonders for his complexion and the slight breeze ruffling his hair.

Alfred had to stop that trail of thought as he felt another blush coming on.

Such thoughts were dangerous. Before he knew it he would be asking for more than just the looks he was getting his fill of these days. He would be asking to know what England’s warmth felt like. His waist, his hair, that space between his collar and his neck.

“Can’t blame a guy for slacking off when nobody’s looking.” Alfred said, glad that he was able to keep the want out of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

England huffed before taking a sip from the water bottle in his hands. He’d probably snatched that from the staff’s supply. But then he shifted the bottle on his knees just so and laid his hands over it and Alfred was suddenly a time-traveler.

England would always sit with his cane propped the same way in Victorian times.

“Well,” England said. “I was having a lovely morning walk when I heard the deafening sound of an idiot overthinking. So I decided to get to the bottom of it.”

Alfred bit his lip to stop runaway thoughts about getting to other people’s bottoms.

“But how did you know I was _here_?”

England tapped his ‘cane’ lightly.

“I ran into your secretary outside. Said you looked like you were in one of those moods where you shouldn’t be bothered.”

Alfred’s lips quirked into a smile.

“So you came to bother me?”

It was England’s turn to smile and the beat of his fingers skipped mirthfully as they danced over the bottle.

“I told you. Idiots shouldn’t be allowed to overthink.”

Alfred was compelled to hang his head as he knew there was no winning against his blush this time. The butterflies in his stomach were having a field day, fluttering like confetti in the wind. With so few opportunities to confirm it, it felt nice to know that England cared.

They were both extremely independent. Both stubborn as hell. Alfred’s attempts to emulate kept being interpreted as an offence and it was so hard to tell when reaching out wouldn’t be seen as patronizing. And although it felt slightly unfair, he’d allow England to get away with it. With giving him something he refused to accept himself.

Because it just felt so damn good.

The clearing of a throat brought him back to reality and he looked up in time to see a flash of insecurity behind green eyes.

“In case you did want to be left alone however…”

Alfred’s back stiffened.

No. Never. I want you here. Always. Forever. With _me_.

“No.” He managed to croak, the word snagging on the lump in his throat.

The thought of England feeling unwanted again filled Alfred with indescribable horror. He’d felt optimistic, _so_ optimistic when their Special relationship had been crafted into existence, its success hitting him with a force he still remembered to this day.

It had been like a hundred doors had been opened at once, all offering a future brighter than what had been available to him until then. And yet all that happiness felt like a fragile thing, the past dangling over it ominously at every turn – so many times he’d held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for those doors to collapse like cardboard cutouts.

That was the tragedy of the good things in life – once you got a taste you never stopped wanting more. Even if all reason pointed toward some kind of end.

He was the only one that could prevent that end.

 _Just be honest Alfred._ _Be honest with him._

“I’m... glad you’re here actually.”

His confidence crumbled the moment it left his lips and he only fought to avoid averting his eyes so he could see England’s reaction. Heart roaring like thunder in his ears, he watched as the other blinked a few times before lowering his head in a somewhat familiar fashion. It made Alfred want to twist in his seat to get a glimpse of his face.

Before he decided it was worth looking like an idiot however, England was up on his feet and tucking the water bottle under his elbow.

“Right, well then,” He said and Alfred was transfixed by the dusting of pink on his cheeks. His freckles looked like they were glowing. “That’s good to hear because I happen to plan on finishing my morning walk and I have no intention of getting lost in your ridiculous city.”

Wait a minute. Alfred gaped at him.

“Ridiculous?”

England nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You make them too big,” He said.

At that point Alfred had all but forgotten his earlier embarrassment.

“Too big?? Have you _seen_ London?”

He suddenly found himself cross-eyes as the bottom of a bottle was pointed at his face.

“London is my heart, lad. It’s an exception.”

Alfred grumbled to himself as he rose from his seat despite his protesting muscles. “How come you’re the only one who gets away with exceptions?”

For a moment, the sun that had climbed further up in the sky blinded him and he had to shield his eyes. Because of that he missed when England stepped close enough for him to feel his breath.

Alfred’s first thought was ‘milk tea’ and then there was the gentle touch of a hand wiping lint off his lapel and causing him to freeze. He gawped at the top of England’s head.

Was he dreaming? Was this real?

Meanwhile England looked to be examining the cut of his suit, his hand still resting near Alfred’s breast pocket, cool and heavy for all that it was so warm outside. Some distant part of Alfred’s brain figured it must have been the leftover chill from the water bottle.

“You should wear one more often.” England said then, his voice so light it was nearly whisked away by the heat. He was talking about his suit, Alfred realized.

Pride swelled in his chest and he puffed it out for the other to feel under his fingers. He’d had that suit tailored. And he knew now it had been the right decision, even though he’d suspected so since he first saw the way it hugged his body in the mirror.

He’d been wondering for a while if England had noticed his physique, the way he’d grown up in places women now eyed with appreciation everywhere he went. He was preening, he knew, but he secretly believed that all those medals piling up in his name had to have had their effect.

Maybe England was acknowledging it, finally.

As if noticing his posturing, England shot him a smile and swiped his hand one last time over his chest before turning and climbing the steps toward the exit.

Alfred wasted no time following him.

They never made it back to that day’s event. And Alfred would never explain how he could ‘get lost’ in his own city.

**Author's Note:**

> The Los Angeles 1984 Olympic Games took place July 28 – August 12, 1984. Many communist countries led by the Soviet Union retaliated for the U.S.-led boycott of the Moscow 1980 Games by staying away from the 1984 Games. Romania was the only member of the Warsaw Pact that did not participate in the boycott and the country even ended up finishing third in overall medal count. 
> 
> Despite the boycott, a record number of nations participated in the games and the 1984 Summer Olympics would go down in history as the most financially successful modern Olympics, going on to serve as an example of how to run the model Olympic Games.


End file.
